Anticipating the Fall

Not much blogging lately.  Today I am just enjoying a rainy day and the ambient sounds of football from the T.V. in the other end of the house.  So maybe just a rainy poem today... a love poem from my series titled Falling Bodies.

ANTICIPATING THE FALL

I'm amazed I can breathe.

If I wanted to reach out, right now,

don't know if I could,

don't know if I'd want to,

don't know if I'd remember how

to touch.

So, I contemplate small things

like the bubbles in my coffee and whether

they'll migrate toward the edge of the cup

predicting rain

or not.  I need to know, because,

there are days, when

wetter than circumstance,

better than drowning,

quieter than tears,

the only thing that saves me

is the rain.

How hard it is to move this way

unglazed, edging closer

to the shadows of need.

How soft when I let myself think of your face,

when a piece of mystery falls into place

triggered by who knows what freedom it must be

to just turn loose 

like a refrigerator magnet that takes off

one night from its cool, white, vertical plain

to sail across a two-toned, checkered terrain

only to be stepped on in the fading dark of morning

strangely not demagnetized at all.

The last time I saw you, it rained

and I spiraled so predictably.

What freedom

to have everything

so cleanly

taken

away.